


stardust (an exchange of hearts)

by betteronpaper



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke, Enjoy!, F/F, IT - Freeform, Introspection, Low-key Feels, happy valentines day??, i dont know if this is angst, idk - Freeform, it's mostly just.... yeah idk, nothing happens much im sorry, probs not - Freeform, soft star love, they're in love okay, this is very late and i'm sorry mars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betteronpaper/pseuds/betteronpaper
Summary: lexa gives her heart to a star





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [100hearteyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/100hearteyes/gifts).



> bonjour! it's been awhile. ahem. this is for mars, who wanted a stardust heart thingo. idk how it works but gave it a shot. surprisingly was a little hard. unbetad. (i am sorry for the quality drop somewhere in the middle to the end Its Been Awhile)

**“Sometimes I have the strangest feeling about you. Especially when you are near me as you are now. It feels as though I had a string tied here under my left rib where my heart is, tightly knotted to you in a similar fashion. And when you go, with all that distance between us, I am afraid that this cord will be snapped, and I shall bleed inwardly.”**

**Charlotte Brontë, _Jane Eyre_**

There was a question from a book of old that Lexa had read, had come across and contemplated every time she looked up; she had read it as a child, and since then it plagued her whenever she scrutinised toward the dark expanse of the sky, littered with stars, blinking, eternal, unreachable.

 

_Do the stars gaze back_?

 

            When stars fell to the earth, word reaching her ears of a girl with golden hair and thunder on her tongue who wielded fire, flaming her warriors alive, of a village burning – flares, she’d learn – she looked skyward once more, to the lying star that moved and didn’t blink, didn’t shine. She looked and knew the answer to the plaguing question intimately; she looked and thought –

             _Yes, they do_.

 

            It was to her surprise, her own reluctance even, when unbidden and so quickly, so fiercely and tenderly, she fell in love with a star.

 

            _Clarke_ – Clarke stood before her, and Lexa found her reports did not lie, for she had hair of sunlight and eyes of the sky, of sapphire jewels, of the ocean deep and vast and that could swirl a storm. Nor did her reports do the girl justice. _Clarke_ was strong, was brave, was cunning, and she was ethereally beautiful. She was beautiful in a way that demanded attention, not solely from appearance but from spirit, from _presence;_  and her presence – majestic, consuming – eclipsed Lexa’s entire existence. Standing before Lexa was a star, so close, lovely and openly, quietly and quizzically, gazing back at her. Lexa wanted nothing more than to succumb to her light, to embrace her brightness, to taste the heavens and settle there, die by her explosive energy. Lexa _wanted_ , but could not have; there was a war to threaten, a war to wage, and Lexa prized her duty to her people too much to become enamoured with who was then the enemy.

            So, she only orbited her sun.

 

           Outwardly, she remained stoic, remained strong and unaffected and the picture of battle: harsh and biting and armoured.  Inwardly, in her veins and underneath her skin, she had already begun to fall, and her heart, which pulsated passionate, potent and alive in her ribcage in a way it hadn’t before, as if solely for _Clarke,_ had already begun to give itself over.

            As days passed, and as Lexa spent more time with Clarke, as she found more of her thoughts consumed by _Clarke_ (the lilt of her laugh and the tenderness of her smile, the depth of her care, the strength of her will, the understanding in her soul), the greater Lexa fell. She felt her heart drum in her chest, felt it large and powerful and _full_. At first, Lexa thought it the greatest weakness, for if love _was_ weakness she had never felt weaker, and her heart no longer pulsated to provide her life but breathed to find itself given wholly to Clarke.

 

            Then, a kiss; the kiss itself was not surprising, not something of an unexpected if, but rather when, for the touching of their lips felt inevitable. The surprise came in the evoking of emotions, the tenderness touch of lump lips, slow and tinged with gentle longing; it came in a sigh stuck in her throat and the wildness of her heart as Lexa pulled Clarke’s mouth to hers and _oh_ , this was what it was to love and taste a star. She did not have time to think, for all thoughts dispersed her as Lexa shared breath, shared life, with Clarke; as she was so utterly, irreversibly, overwhelmed by all feelings _Clarke_. Then, later – a moment later, an eternity later, for time itself was lost and meaningless to Lexa – Clarke pulled back, startled and still, with whispered words of ‘not yet’ and Lexa nodded, silent and affected by the kiss.

            Still, she knew the giving was done, and Lexa raised her hand to caress those strands of gold, and skin of pale sunlight.

            “I do not demand your heart, Clarke, in exchange for mine,” Lexa said, quietly and meaningfully, and she stepped close again, heard the hitching of breath, saw the fluttering of lashes. She knew if she was to kiss Clarke again, she would be received, if only a moment, until Clarke gathered herself once more.  

            Their next kiss, however, if there would ever be one, laid solely in _Clarke_ and her desire for it.

            “But,” Lexa continued softly, waited until Clarke opened her eyes again, to gaze back, and Lexa found herself staring into the universe, “it is yours now, and I only ask you take care of it. I will wait.”

            In-between then and the blaring of the horn, sounding war, Lexa had never seen Clarke stare at her so tenderly, in quiet amazement. Lexa would wait into their next life, and the life after, and all lives, if need be, if it meant more stares like that.

 

            Later, Lexa thought she might have to wait until their next life; later, she wondered, pondered, if it was due to Clarke owning her heart, leaving her heartless, that she was able to abandon Clarke at the Mountain.

            Lexa wondered how if she had given her heart, and was not given Clarke’s in exchange as in most giving of hearts, she still felt so much. She wondered how she was still so weak, how her physical heart singed, betrayed by its owner, by herself, with tears in her eyes hot and stinging, and a lodge in her throat that would not swallow. For her heart _hurt_ and it burned and burned and burned.

            Lexa wondered if this was the feeling of a star dying.

 

            Clarke had survived the Mountain, had conquered it. She knew long before her reports told her so, for she knew if Clarke had died she would have felt it, would have followed her into death. Lexa had known none that survive the death of the one their hearts had surrendered to, and Lexa did not think she would be the exception when she gave hers so fully to her star; and she thought ‘gave’ lightly, as if she really had any chose in the matter – for she did not.

 

            There were few moments where she did not think of Clarke, even as she governed and dealt with the politics of Polis, of her ruling. There were nights where she woke, gasping and clutching her chest and knew Clarke was angry, was in pain, was squeezing Lexa’s heart, burning and burning and burning. She woke, wanting to scream, with eyes watering and body weary. Lexa wondered why Clarke had yet to crush it, to destroy her, and she only hoped that in not doing so _Clarke_ understood. On some level, Clarke had to, must, for they were the same. But with each squeeze, with each harsh grasp, Lexa became weaker.

 

            It started with the restless nights, and the fatigue of her eyes, the occasional pulsating throbbing of mind, and then the deep ache of her muscles. She began feeling tired, weary and worn, and that first time she felt dizziness from standing up she knew something acutely, knew a sudden truth long spoken to her; she knew what Titus, what Anya, what Gustus all truly meant when they said love is weakness. They each meant it differently, with Titus being the most absolute, the most demanding of the belief. But Lexa knew that _this_ , this slow, taunting death, this skittering on the edge of existence, was the love they all collectively meant. She remembered Anya, strong and stoic – more than Lexa ever was – talk of this love.

_“Be careful if your heart surrenders to another, for if you truly give it, they have the power to weaken you. It is important, Lexa, that you do not exchange your heart alone, that if your heart calls to someone to find home in, that they give theirs as well. The exchange is sacred.”_

_“You do not have to be married to exchange hearts?” she had asked, and Anya had scowled as if the entire topic was an unwelcomed chore._

_“No. It is rare, even then. There a few people a heart would find an equal home and in, and the heart has to be full for this person, has to be strong for the exchange. The heart has to call for it, and there is little choice in this. Love can be a strength, Lexa, but it can be a weakness.”_

            Lexa remembered the conversation vividly, now, though she had forgotten for years. But even as she existed too exhausted to do more than wake from her bed, and with barely continued strength more to sit upon her throne and handle affairs, she did not view her love for Clarke a weakness. For her to be so affected, it had to be strong, she reasoned, and Lexa did not think Clarke knew what she was doing. Even if that were so, Lexa could not be angry with her. For even then, she could faintly feel the warmth of _Clarke_.

 

            “You have to take it back, Heda,” Titus stressed to her.

            It was a warm day, the sun shining soft and gentle, and the sky was clear of clouds and rain. It was a good day to train, to walk the streets. Instead, she lay in bed, too weak to move much, too tired to think much. She knew she looked frail, looked the physical embodiment of _weakness._ She would not be surprised if she weren’t killed soon, for Heda could not be weak. Still,

            “I do not know how, Titus, and even so – I would not.”

            Titus had been furious, had wrongful wrath that warred with her once he learned the cause of her illness. Titus did not understand, could not. As Anya had told her, there was little choice, and should she die… then so be it. Death is not the end, she continued to tell herself, and perhaps in the next life Clarke will accept her heart, and return the gesture with love in turn.  It is with these thoughts she smiled slightly, felt at peace, and settled more comfortably in her furs. She was so very tired.

            Titus watched and opened his mouth to argue, but Lexa silenced him with her hand, and then she closed her eyes to rest.

 

            She dreamed of the sun, burning, burning and burning, warmth shining brightly and intense. When Lexa reached to touch its rays – its burning core – she was consumed; and she felt the tendrils of hair across her cheeks, arms wrap around her frame. She could not see much but for a glimmer of gold, but she felt a familiar presence of a star she had so fallen for. She reminisced a kiss, eternal, and so long ago.

 

            Her heart felt close.

 

            When she next opened her eyes, it was to greet the most beautiful vision. _Clarke_ filled her space, was there with hair still gold, if not tattered, with eyes still blue, if not clouded,  with skin more kissed by sunlight, and Lexa wondered if it was a continuation of the dream.

            She breathed and inhaled Clarke’s scent, she blinked and held back tears, and her heart fluttered, and she felt strong. For the first time in months, she felt warm, and as she woke, mind sharpening with consciousness, she watched Clarke smile, small, a twitch of the lips; but it was tender and it was there, and that was everything. When she felt Clarke’s fingers dance upon her skin, her face, her lips and hair, her eyes flickered. She felt like one of those girls from those stories that were awoken after a deep sleep from true love, and for a moment, she felt lightheaded, felt magically happy.

            “You look…” Clarke began, trailed off, and Lexa wondered how she looked then – probably like death, probably weak, probably pitiful, and Lexa fought a scowl at the thought, the magic moment gone.

            She did not want to seem weak, to seem pitiful, in front of Clarke. Still, her awareness of herself, her vulnerability, must have been apparent, because Clarke’s gazed softened, and the image of Clarke then, her behaviour, was so far from what Lexa imagined their reunion would be all this time.

            “I’m sorry Lexa, that I… I haven’t taken care of what you gave,” Clarke said then, and she looked pained, a frown marring her beauty, “I’m sorry I’ve been doing this. I never meant to be ki –”

            “ _Clarke_ ,” Lexa interrupted, and the force of it, of speaking so strongly, was more than she was used to as of late, and she coughed a little with sputtered breaths.

            It was enough to bring alarm to Clarke’s eyes, and Lexa raised her hand to clutch Clarke’s own at her side, and the touch invigorated her, brought life and warmth.

            “You do not need to apologise. You did not know, and you were in pain. Please do not blame yourself,” Lexa whispered, eyes pleading, “I gave my heart to you; it is yours to do as you wish, Clarke, _whatever_ you wish. I surrendered my say when I…” and here, Lexa blinked, glanced elsewhere, sighed and forced her gaze back to Clarke’s, “had to leave you.”

            She was careful with her wording, was careful and purposeful to use the word _had to_ because she did not regret saving her people. The pain it brought upon Clarke, the meaning at the time of what she was sure to be the end of Clarke’s people, _that_ she was sorry for, unavoidable though it was. Clarke knew this, knew all of it, for she had Lexa’s heart, and for a while Clarke was silent.

            Clarke thought of how angry she was to be captured, to be brought to Polis and shoved into a room – Lexa’s room. She was ready to rage and spite, but Clarke recalled the moment it all receded, the moment rage turned to regret, and spite turned to sorrow, when she saw Lexa looking smaller than she ever had; when she saw her pale, weak and frail and so like death… for a moment, Clarke thought Lexa was no longer living. For that moment, Clarke’s own heart had stopped, her own existence had ceased, and she knew she was irreversibly entwined with Lexa. She could no longer deny their connection and Lexa’s place in her own heart, despite all the pain she had felt.

            Clarke recalled the bald man, Titus, as he informed her Lexa was dying because of the strain Clarke was placing on her given heart. She recalled the pain in his eyes and the quiet anger directed at her for causing it, recalling his words that he would have killed Clarke if he knew it wouldn’t kill Heda too, and he left her with instructions to _fix it_. Clarke recalled it all then as she sat, gazing at Lexa, who blinked tiredly towards her. Clarke wondered how long Lexa was enduring it all.

            “I don’t know how to give it back, Lexa,” Clarke finally spoke, and her voice was laced in anguish, “I don’t know how this heart stuff works I,” and Clarke felt tears, felt their gentle wetting weight, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

            “I do not want it back, and you are already fixing it.”

            Lexa was already feeling stronger, and if she was correct in her thoughts, she would recovery far more quickly than time took to her suffering. She was still tired, was still weak, and her whole body sore, her mind skittering on the edge of a headache. But she felt it, she felt her heart being cared for, felt it begin being nursed. It was a strange feeling, to know Clarke cared for her, was caring for her, to feel it, even as she doubted it, even as she suspected Clarke wasn’t aware of it.

            Clarke’s eyes scanned her face, her concealed body as if trying to find evidence of her spoken strength supposedly resurfacing.

            “You are here, Clarke, and that is enough.”

            And it was.

 

            Lexa was stubborn in her recovery, was impatient and audacious in pushing herself. But Lexa was adamant, terribly in love, and _alive_ , and Clarke was with her, was in Polis. She wanted to show the ways of the city to Clarke, to show her the stalls, the library, the craft shops, the orphanage, the stables and the bakery and food markets. At first, it was strange to be so acutely aware of Clarke’s feelings, as the blonde fiddled through the remnants of anger, of betrayal; but it was blissful to be aware of the feeling of acceptance and understanding, and a slow crescendo of happiness, of quiet joy and tenderness that equated with love. Lexa felt it, as her heart was with Clarke’s own.

            “What about my people?” Clarke asked one day when she was drawing something secreted to Lexa, as Lexa herself was reacquainting herself with the sword, with the fight.

            “They are doing well. We are in an alliance with them, a… tentative peace,” Lexa replied, slowing her movements, inhaling and exhaling air into her lungs, strong again, “I hope to join them in my coalition, soon, so that we may become one people.”

            Lexa did not need to explain why, for Clarke felt it, knew it, holding Lexa’s heart still. As of late, Clarke had been thinking much of Lexa’s heart, and its place within her.

            She remembered its presence being there after Lexa kissed her, that time, that only time, remembered how light it felt, how much stronger it made her feel and how happy – even then when she was cautious, was focused on the war and still healing. Clarke had never felt anything like it; it was light and soulful, and a constant warmth that caressed her entire being; it was like the final piece, fitting perfectly to finish the puzzle that was her; it was heavy in weight of love and filling in a way of belonging; and when it first settled it was fireworks in her chest. When Lexa had abandoned her, left her, that night, it was chaos and a burning ache of protest and pain; it was deleterious, to both of them; it was the beginning of a slow longanimity, though for Lexa the consequences were far more disastrous, and Clarke was immensely sorry for it. She did not know and was only aware of her own pain, her own choices, and her own façade of feelings wrathful and raging towards the heartless brunette.  Though Titus is distrusting and distasteful, Clarke is forever indebted to him for snatching her away. Sometimes her thoughts would run away from her and Clarke would catch herself thinking of _what if_ ; what if she was too late, and Lexa gone and what then of this other heart in her chest? Clarke imagined it turning cold, warmth dispersed and it being a heavy thing of regret and sorrow. She imagined herself dying.

            “Clarke?”

            “Mm?” 

            Lexa was crouching in front of her now, alive, skin no longer pale and shadows no longer under her eyes; she looked healthy, and anyone would have been none-the-wiser to her close call with death. She was crouching, with a look of worry, eyes searching and concerned.

            “You’re crying.”

            “Oh.”

            Clarke’s right hand rose to her face, feeling the tears. As she wiped them away, she smiled reassuringly to Lexa.

            “Just bad thoughts.”

            Lexa’s eyes searched her, and for some seconds it was silent, words and thoughts stuck in mind and throat. But it was peaceful, and Clarke felt vulnerable. She glanced away, briefly, unsure. Her brows furrowed and she glanced down to her drawing and to the left and then up at Lexa, who still was crouching, whose own expression was of slight concern still.

            “What if…what if you died Lexa?”

            Lexa blinked, looked confused, “I… I do not know. There is not much known on this, but I know you would live.”

            “And what if I died?”

            “I would follow.”

            “Because your hearts with me,” Clarke said, and she watched as Lexa nodded her small, singular motion of a nod. When Clarke spoke next, she spoke simply, without a trace of anger or accusation. “You thought I was going to die in Mount Weather.”

            Clarke saw Lexa’s eyes shine in that way they did back in Lexa’s tent long ago, back when she cornered Lexa to a table and truths were said. She wanted to kiss Lexa then, briefly, in the moment after _not everyone, not you_. She saw Lexa’s chin rise a little now, took note of her hand picking at the grass once, hands clenching.

            “I left you outside. Unharmed.”

            “You had to know I wouldn’t have given up,” Clarke urged, gentle still.

            “My people were saved.”

            _And victory is made on the back of sacrifice,_ Clarke recalled. She looked understanding then, if not sad, if not tired, and feeling as if she could cry at any moment.

            “Death is not the end, Clarke,” Lexa reminded her, and Clarke didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or scoff at Lexa’s comfort.

            Instead she smiled, though it was small and weak and a curtain to hide behind.

            “How about we talk about something other than death?”

            “Okay,” Lexa said, a smile twitching, “what are you drawing?”

            Clarke looked down at the sketch, and felt a slight blush to her cheeks, Clarke knew. Still, she turned it around, hand holding it out to Lexa. It was taken gingerly, and she watched as Lexa looked at it seemingly in awe, with tenderness, as if it was precious, and suddenly that look of awe was upon her.

            “This is beautiful, Clarke.”

            Lexa kept looking at her as if she was a star and Clarke glanced away, smiling small and bashful. She felt her heart tug, felt it longing.

           

            “Hey.”

            “Clarke.”

            Lexa was exhausted, Clarke knew; she saw it in the woman’s slight slump of shoulders and unfocused gaze. She heard it in Lexa’s voice, and yet the tenderness, the reverence of her name was not lost. The night was quiet and the day had been long. When Lexa returned to her chambers, she found Clarke drawing on the bed, and Lexa’s soul swelled at the sight.

            “Let me help,” Clarke said, rising.

            When she was close, hand unclasping the Commander’s shoulder guard, Lexa watched her tiredly, thankfully.

            “I heard you kicked a man from your tower.”

            “He threatened you,” was all Lexa said, and the words were soft as if they explained it all.

            Clarke couldn’t help but feel amused, though she worried still, and felt guilt at the amusement.

            “You have to stop that. I’ve already lectured you once about this.”

            “Lecture me again,” Lexa smiled, small, and Clarke returned it, though it was coupled with a roll of eyes as she removed the shoulder garment.

            Lexa started unbuttoning her coat, but the task was taken over once more by Clarke, to Lexa’s silent surprise. At Lexa’s look and eyes of wonderment, Clarke ducked her head a little. She focused on the buttons, finished as she spoke.

            “The ice nation will use this against you, you know that?”

            “Mm.”

            Clarke stopped then and looked up, eyes stubborn and concerned in that familiar way.

            “They don’t know, do they?”

            “No.”

            The blonde nodded, and finished with the coat, stepped away, almost shyly. She glanced back as she returned to the bed, moved her drawing aside to a stand. Lexa watched her, watched her move and her brows furrow suddenly, watched as Clarke looked back and then with those worried eyes ask if she was okay. When Clarke shifted to the end of the bed and took Lexa’s hand, Lexa swallowed. She was tired, but Clarke was here, lovely and warm, and this was dangerous.

            “You have to be careful, Clarke.”

            “More than I already am?”

            A nod, a glance down to their hands now intertwined.

            “You can’t give me your heart,” she whispered, and Lexa watched as worry warped to understanding, as eyes hardened and that stubbornness Lexa so loved appeared again, armed and armoured.

            “And if I want to?”

            “You can’t, Clarke if I die –”

            “Then I die. I know.”

            So stubborn, so beautiful, Lexa thought; and she thought with pain because _this is for Clarke’s protection._

            “We can’t protect our people if we’re both dead, Clarke.”

            “So what,” Clarke asked, quiet and broken, “you get to give your heart to me but I can’t to you? How is that fair, Lexa?”

            “I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

            “And you think I do?”

            The whispered words silenced her, and Lexa felt her eyes sting a little, felt as if she could cry at any moment. Clarke’s eyes were beseeching now, were warm and inviting, but a little pained, too. She felt her hand being led to Clarke’s chest, where she felt the beating of the woman’s heart. 

            “It hurts to keep it. I can’t fit both anymore.”

            Lexa’s breath hitched, her lips shuddering, and eyes closing as Clarke leant forward. She felt their foreheads rest together, felt noses nudge, felt a tear fall.

            “Let me love you, Lexa.”

            Lips, soft and sweet as in her dreams, brushed against her own, and then caressed more firmly, more tenderly passionate. She surrendered instantly, and Lexa felt it; she felt her chest warm, felt complete, felt the star of a heart now within her and _oh_ what it felt to be suddenly, explicitly alive and in love. Lexa smiled into the kiss, laughed a little as Clarke pulled them backwards, felt Clarke smile too – not just against lips, but in her soul.

            “Now we’re both whole,” Clarke murmured, and Clarke’s eyes were the bluest thing then, warm and deep and beautiful, so close – a galaxy.

            Lexa traced Clarke’s face softly, tangled her hands in hair of sun and stardust, and pressed her earth lips to those heaven sent.

            “Now we’re both home.”

**Author's Note:**

> can find me @ darlingheda.tumblr.com  
> for those for like my stuff know there is more clexa in the works, i'm just super lazy and that probably won't change but there's more coming. like omg have i got good stuff for you. wait no lower expectations. who am i kidding it'll be so long ya'll forget


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